


Hunger

by tinyfiestyrosiekitten



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Death of an Original Character, Gen, Hinted Jesse McCree, One Shot, Snippet, Violence, Violent Death, look this isn't a cute story to be fair warned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-27
Updated: 2019-02-27
Packaged: 2019-11-06 11:17:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17938703
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinyfiestyrosiekitten/pseuds/tinyfiestyrosiekitten
Summary: The beast demands to be fed, and there is no choice but to oblige it.





	Hunger

Gabriel snarls in irritated frustration.

Claws swinging out to haul himself around a corner with a flare of his coat; no not Gabriel, Reaper he was Reaper. The shadow killer, the man eater- Boots hitting the floor as he pounds across the ground before he lets the pain take him, dissolving into a dark mass of smoke and mist. Tearing after his prey, slamming into walls and raking across the floor in whip sharp strokes that bring the sound of metal on concrete. 

Leaving score marks in his wake like some great beast.

And is he not now?

Reforming once more at the four way of a set of halls as he chases his fleeing prey, panting in heavy strokes from old habits not need as his head swings side to side to try and track them down. Listening…tasting and going statue still. Eyes flicking under his mask as he dissolves again and whisks down the left side hall before solidifying his shape once more as he delves deeper into the base of the group he has just finished slaughtering. 

One got away though. One little rat scrabbling in the dark away that had once thought itself a great hunting animal.

Deliberately dragging his claws along the wall to watch the metal spark and not feel the heat as he hums a quiet dirge. A familiar shotgun forms in his empty palm. Tapping his claws on pipes as his boots come down sharply on grated floors, masked and hooded head swinging side to side as if searching but he knows.  
Oh he knows where his prey is now.

The animal fear has caught his attention and the nanites beckon. The pain that lives in his body demands to be fed, to be sustained lest he fall apart and never form again… The fear of his own moves his steps a little faster. He’s already consumed so much but he never knows when he’ll be able to do so without guilt. This little nest of rats has been a pain in Talon’s side, but they’ve hurt others. So many others with their actions and the Reaper has come to collect his due debts.  
He whistles, pausing as the quaking figure goes still and silent among the boxes that they are hiding in. Gaze fixating as the heat radiates around the crate no doubt full of parts. Omnic, human… he isn’t even sure what it might be. It doesn’t have the rot sweet stench down here as their surgeries above had had but one is never sure if it might be a fridge box or not.  
His lips curl away from his teeth even though the human can’t see it. 

But oh he can’t resist scraping his boots on the concrete and walking away from the man behind the box. Ignoring the muffled sob- for now as he walks, slipping around a corner and the anticipation makes the pain a little less as he lets himself simply cease to exist for a moment. Listening to that sob break into shuddery forcefully calm breaths before the rat is clawing itself out of its hidey hole. How nice of it to come out where he could get to it more easily. A shadow clinging to a cornered edge and it at least has the sense to not move towards where they thought they had hurt him last. 

No it turns its back to him instead. So he moves; slithering with a hushed noise like sand over glass making it freeze and whirl but oh its far too late as his claws catch over bearded cheeks to slam it bodily into the wall. Grip shifting around their throat, shoving them higher as they claw uselessly with whimpered animal noises and the nanites buzz in his ear restlessly and relentlessly. 

The nails bite uselessly at formed thickened armored leather. Booted feet thumping into his chest, but he does not feel it. Not anymore not like this as he tips his mask up a touch, shushing the struggling man…a boy really in so many ways. Young, painfully young and brown eyes remind them of something so very important as they lower it down to curl his fingers over their jaw. Hushing and tutting as brown eyes sour something in his unbeating heart and he tightens his hold enough that the claws of his gloves draw pin pricks of blood. Because they are not the right color, though they are brown and white edged and rightfully terrified of their known impending end.

His idea to perhaps get information from the other changes. His hushing turning to snarled growling and snapping. Grip tightening around a narrow scrawny throat until the fighting becomes more desperate then…peters off in fits and spurts and the brown eyes roll back. That thrill of catching, of feeding as he drags his claws away from the bruised and indented column is absent and he is dissatisfied. 

Angry. More angry than he was chasing the rat through the industrial complex.  
Reaper snarls abruptly and lashes out. Flowing into a whirlwind of mass that shatters crated and boxes and cold units and even consumes the body of the human in a rush of greedy ire. He leaves raking marks behind and destruction; a criminal hide out turned ghost town… There is nothing left here. Stalking from the building with mask firmly in place past red masked thugs who shy back from his radiating fit or perhaps it’s the way his coat seems to snap and snatch at their ankles and wrists.  
What does he care? 

Reaper loads into the waiting transport unit. Sinking into his seat, silent, waiting… hungry again despite the gluttonous feast of the hours past.

He forgets about wide scared brown eyes in a young scruffy face. What do they matter at all?


End file.
